Posts Tagged ‘sar to the casm’

I’ve been thinking a lot about dreams lately. Not just because of my relief at finding out where my subconscious has been storing its gay, but just in general. The more I reflect on it, the more it seems like my dreams are just the amalgamation of every thought that crossed my mind even very briefly during daylight hours, assembled with a loose and often very strange plot line. I’m not a big believer in dream interpretation in the classic sense (and by “not a big believer” I mean that I think it’s total bs). I do not believe that the presence of a yak in my dreams portents any special thought into my uniqueness and dependability, or that I talk too much (which, I kid you not is apparently what this is supposed to mean). It probably means that I like yaks. Which I kind of do. Sometimes.

I have found, though, that the emotions experienced in my dreams can say a LOT about what I’m feeling in my real life. Completely ignoring the circumstances and discarding whatever crazy plot generates them in my dreaming head, the pure emotions themselves seem to be extremely representative of things I’ve felt that day. Sometimes in a more refined way that makes it easier for me to identify them accurately, and pick out the specific cause. I try to be aware of my emotions in general, and have been actively trying to pin down every emotion I can since starting my journey of depression recovery. Every now and then I notice that “ungh” feeling in my stomach, though, and am unable to identify precisely what it is that’s causing it. Sometimes the dreams can help with that.

This morning in that state between defining myself as formally “awake” and actually regaining consciousness for a long enough period that I could, you know, open my eyes or move about or such, I drifted into a dream in which I realized that all of our financial worries were actually okay, since we could just live off my blog income (which probably involved a lot of creative budgeting, since the income from my personal depression blog is a grand total of ZERO DOLLARS). What were we ever worried about??

But in my dream state, it was irrelevant that I am nowhere near even three digit hits per day, and that a very large portion of those want to see hugging animals. I was an internet success, and just like Dooce was now blogging my way to financial security.

So I was thinking. Maybe I really am like Dooce. Maybe my subconscious is seeing connections here that I am not. I mean, I figure that I already have a leg up because I SOMETIMES USE ALL CAPS. Except MAYBE NOT ALWAYS AS EFFECTIVELY AS HER.

Dooce has a gorgeous baby who likes to gnaw on apples. I have apples! If I had a baby, she could be chewing on this one as we speak. Hoo-boy, would my baby be chewing on that but good!

Dooce is fond of special finds of beautiful creative items that people have made. Behold the handmade laundry statuette that is currently displayed in my bedroom! We were going to go with the dining area, but I figured I would want it close while I sleep. Creates that safe and inviting atmosphere. The kind that says “You can rest easy here. Throw caution to the wind. Heck, throw some clothing while you’re at it.” Not actually purchased on etsy, but I’m a sucker for a handsome one-of-a-kind art piece whatever the source.

The list goes on.

Dooce had a crappy Maytag. I had a crappy Maytag!
Dooce has a website that is read by around 300,000 people per day. I have a website!
Dooce was raised Mormon through her youth. I…am aware that religion exists.

Yes, the similarities are endless.

Dooce writes well thought-out and entertaining posts… I wake up and blog my dream state delusions because I don’t feel like being particularly deep today.

What? I did say that it was important to ignore the context… Can’t get too picky with details when you’re working with dreams. We both blog. That’s all I’m sayin’.

Unnecessarily Long Sidebar About What This Site Is All About Which I Should Probably Just Put In The “About” Page Instead and Kind of Makes That Whole Other Page Redundant:

I feel like I should write something vague here so that I don't have to change it in the future when it becomes horribly outdated.

Like, "I have arms. ...And legs. And this blog is a record of them."

Except it isn't. Mostly. Sometimes.

So instead I will say that this started as a chronicle of my journey with depression, went through some pretty awful experiences with antidepressants that brought me very near to suicidal for months, and came out the other side with the diagnosis that I've actually been struggling with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, often called Chronic Fatigue Syndome, and probably didn't need any of that in the first place. I'm just one of the lucky ones who gets profoundly more depressed on antidepressants. Oh, and while I wasn't accurately diagnosed, all that stuff I was doing to push myself actually sped up the progression of the illness like crazy. Yay (I'm really not as bitter as I seem).

Good news, my mood is really quite stable now most of the time.

Bad news, I can no longer wash my own hair, or prepare my own meals, or drive a car, or, you know, stand up for more than a minute. I've now been bed bound since the spring of 2011. But I can get to the bathroom now, and hold my own head up, and occasionally write here, and you have no idea what a victory that's been.

This has generally ended up being a place to keep my sanity, embrace absurdity, stay connected while I can't leave the house, and remind me to look at the amusing side of what's going on around me.

Except when the amusing side is the bum part. Because, really, who wants to look at that?